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SOCIETY, 

A 

POEM 

WITH OTHER POEMS. 
By JAMES KENNEY. 



33* 



Nous naissons, nous vivons pour la societe. 
A nous-memes hvres dans une solitude, 
Notre bonheur bientot fait notre inquietude. 

Boileau. Sat, X, 



LONDON: 

Printed by N. Biggs, Cranc-court r Fleet-street, 

FOR T. N, LONGMAN AND O, REES, FATER« 
NOSTER-ROW, 

1803. 



1 r) ■C, 



06 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

Society, Part I. 3 

Part II. - - - - - -43 

Notes on Part I. ------ 83 

on Part II. 92 

Ode on the Return of Peace 105 

Miscellaneous Poems. 

Versailles -------- 115 

To Two Sisters, imitated from the French - - 121 

To a Friend employed in shooting Sparrows - - 125 

Old Thomas 129 

An Idea for Satirists ..----- 136 

The Merchant and the Philosopher - 143 

The discontented Rabbit ----- 152 

The Castle of Mystery - - - * - - 160 

To the Moon - 162 

Sonnets. 

Sonnet I, To a Pig 169 

— II. On awakening in the Morning - - 171 



PREFACE. 



The name of Poet is getting fast out of repute. 
The veneration formerly attached to the title 
has started so many claimants to it, upon nobet- 
ter credentials than rhyme or measure, that we 
have now more writers of Poetry than of Prose. 
Thus, though we are not without good poets, 
we have abundantly more bad ones ; and though 
the former when known fail not to receive the 
encouragement they merit, yet few will risk 
the loss of their time, to read a yet unknown 
Versifier, who is much more likely, according 
to the chances, to fatigue them with a barren 

common-place jingle, or perhaps to disgust on 



vi PREFACE. 

the other hand with some empirical innovation 
of style or phraseology to supply the place of 
legitimate beauty, than to elevate and de- 
light by the dictates of a rational and sterling 
genius. 

In such a season, therefore, when so little is 
to be expected, if Society be found unworthy, 
I may fairly claim an acquittal from the charge 
of presumption in offering it to the world. And 
I have another claim to this, in common with 
the rest of the fraternity, in consideration of 
the blindness which belongs alike to good poets 
and to bad ones, as to the real value of their 
works. Virgil would have burnt his Eneid, and 
Paradise Regained was the darling progeny of 
the muse of Milton. The only precaution which 
my tenderness for the public could suggest, . 
I have taken in submitting my production to a 






PREFACE. vii 

man whose criiical judgment it has long and 
generally acknowledged. Had his report been 
discouraging (however great the violence to 
m v vanity) the public may rest assured it should 
not have been troubled with an appeal from 
his decision. 

Let me (before my reader charges me with it) 
confess to one borrowed thought. I have said 
the same thing of tea as Cozcper.. I may have 
many more apparent plagiarisms, for no poem 
of any length at this stage of literature can be 
without them, but this is the only one of which 
I am conscious. Nil dictum quod nun dictum 
prius is a saving which of all others is not the 
less true for its antiquity. 

[ take this opportunity of acknowledging the 
Ode on tht Return of Peace which has already 
met the public eye anonymously in the 



viii PREFACE. 

Morning Chronicle. One or two other of the 
smaller poems have also appeared in periodical 
publications. 



§><metp* 



PART THE FIRST. 



ANALYSIS OF PART THE FIRST. 



The causes and evils of Solitude form principally the 
subject of the first part of this Poem, as being natural objects 
of attention, previous to a view of the positive advantages of 
Society, 

It begins with replying to the declamation of Misanthropy ; 
which is contrasted with the sentiments that actuated the 
mind of Howard, and an apostrophe is made to the shade 
of that eminent philanthropist. 

Solitude, upon those delicate minds who seek it to indulge 
the reveries of fancy, and poetical contemplation, has often 
the same effect as intemperance on the body, of destroying its 
susceptibility to common enjoyment : It is also liable to induce 
a habit of intense thought ; perhaps on subjects out of the 
reach of human enquiry ; and this excessive and vain exercise 
of the thinking faculty, creates that hypochondriac infirmity, 
which admits of cure only by a diversion of the mind to the 
bustle of Society. 

Solitude, when recurred to, to cherish sorrow, engenders a 
settled and incurable melancholy — exemplified with its cala- 
mitous consequences in the Story of Giraldus, 
B 



ANALYSIS OF PART THE FIRST. 

I 

Picture of a fair maniac the victim of superstitious solitude. 
Apostrophe to Superstition ; and some refections on the extra- 
vagancies of the passion for pious seclusioninits earliest stages. 
An allusion to the latter melancholy years of the life of 
Zimmerman. An enquiry into the tendency of solitude 
towards the improvement of the heart — Concluding with a 
comparative view of the sentimental recluse, and the virtuous 
man of the world. 




SOCIETY. 



PART I. 

Let fancy-led Enthusiasts court the shade, 
The Sons of Pride, and Worldlings disappointed, 
Seek consolation in the desart's gloom, 
Far from the eye of man ; effusing there 
Unheard unheeded railings : such delight 
I envy not, nor court. — Be mine the joys 
Engendered by the cheerful face of Man, 
The varied sweets, the interesting cares 
That yields Society — at Friendship's call 
B 2 



SOCIETY, 



PART I. 



To bid my heart be glad, and tune its chords 10 
To active happiness and social joy. 

Of these I sing, and of the ills that wait 

On those who love them not. — Attend my lays 

Companions of my happiest hours, who share 

Alike my pleasures and my cares ! for whom 1 5 

The world I cherish, all its weight of woe 

Its cares and frailties granted : for 'tis you 

Inspire my task (neglected by the muse 

Till now) and teach me more than half my song. 

By your exhorting and approval warm'd, 20 

Advent'rous the untrodden path I try 

With hopeful, though with hesitating heart. 

Unknown to fame, by patronage uncheer'd 

My numbers else reluctantly had flow'd. 



SOCIETY. 



PART I. 



And what the joy, Misanthropy exclaims, 25 

(Misanthropy, the whining Child of Pride) 

And what the joy the busy world can yield 

To him whom Virtue charms, whom Wisdom guides ? 

To see their vot'ries disregarded, scom'd 5 

To see Vice prosper, Knavery look bold, 30 

And Folly flutter in the ranks of wealth 

Defrauding Wisdom of her homage ! Shame 

The good Man's fate alone, who views such scenes 

With eyes averted blushing for their being ! 

Psha ! such a world I hate, I hate and leave it. 35 

Thus selfish Pride exclaims. — Not so the man 
Whose love of Virtue is for Virtue's sake^ 
Who deems her naked dignity above 
Increase of honour from the gilded helps 



SOCIETY. 



Fantastic Fortune offers : and convinced 40 

That imperfection must pervade this state, 
Resigns to ills that neer will find a cure. 

The friend of Virtue is the friend of Man,, — 

Man for each other made, that they who sink 

O'er-charged in their probationary task 45 

May just division of tjieir burthen make 

With those more lightly press'd. So Howard thought, 

And on that sentiment he built his deeds. 

To him were not unknown the many crimes 

Of human kind, the cares of Social life : 50 

Fitying he saw them j but he saw them not 

With lamentation only : for to him 

The world for all its ills was more endear'd. 

His noble mind glowed with the glorious hope 



SOCIETY. 



PART I. 



Of working them relief. For this he lived, 55 

For this alone he valued life. He knew 

No business but benevolence : — his youth 

To philanthropic surf 'ranee he inured, 

And learnt each toil his purpose might require, 

Most expeditiously to practise good. 60 

This Man was wise and virtuous ; yet he found 

A task of pleasure 'mongst his fellow-men ; 

His wealth he gave to mitigate feheir woes $ 

His great example to repair their hearts. 

Oh Howard ! if thy Spirit now may share 65 

Concerns of Man, my timid Muse inspire 
To animated strains in such a theme 
As this, that not unfitly she may sing 
The duties sweet of general fellowship 



SOCIETY. 



PART I. 



And social love ! — And (yet untaught to soar) 70 
Accept the light and fading wreath she leaves 
On thy already thickly laurell'd tomb. 
Were mine the fire that warm'd the parent bard, 
Of thy bless'd deeds I'd frame an epic Song 
Should bear thy name co-eval with Pelides j 75 

And with the Heathen's anger, shew mankind 
The greater Heroism of Christian virtue. 

'Tis true like means are granted not to all ; 

All have not Howard's wealth, and fewer boast 

His energy of mind. — Yet ev'ry man 60 

Stands unexcused from hatred to his kind. 

Pause Cynic ! — E'er for ever thou dissolve 

The tie that binds thee to thy race, yet pause ! 

Against those baser passions of thy breast 



SOCIETY. 



PART I. 



Awaken'd by Self-love, which blindly now 85 

For Virtue thou mistak'st, one struggle yet 

Oppose, and vanquish'd, thou perchance wilt own 

Philosophy with Hermits ne'er can dwell. 

Stay ! — Spite of human frailty, spite of all 

The groveling passions, that debase our hearts, 90 

Much Merit ever may be found to claim 

Thine interest and regard, on which bestow'd 

Thy time and care, some hours may yet elapse 

Without regret amid the busy world. 

And of thy wrongs make lessons that may teach 95 

A safer path to inexperienced worth. 

Virtue's true friend is busy in her cause : 

Deserts it never. — When her feebler sons 

Behold such great defection, may they not 

With justice deem her interest desp'rate grown, 100 



10 SOCIETY. 



PART I. 



And fear to rally her remaining force. 

How many has she, zealous partizans, 

Who gladly at her standard would be found, 

Tho' each perhaps lacks confidence to raise it. 

Be staunch ; still keep thy post, and what thou canst, 

Atchieve. — There's honour even in thy failure. 106 

Ye finer souls ! lured to the lonely scene 

By Fancy or the Muse, whom Nature's charms 

Invite to frequent saunt'rings in the gloom, 

In Contemplation's silent luxury 5 1 10 

Your errors flowing from a dirT'rent source, 

A mind too keenly sensitive, demand 

Compassion more than censure. — Oft ye court 

Amid the pensive shade more dreadful ills 

Than rack the guilty bosom, or torment 115 



SOCIETY. 11 



PART I. 



The victim of disease. — A pleasure first, 

A soft a rapt'rous pleasure fills your hearts 5 

But 'tis the mind's voluptuousness, and brings 

A train of evils in their course as sure, 

As wait the meaner and destructive joys 120 

Of the low sensualist 5 — a sweet excess, 

Intoxicating bliss, that oft repeated, 

Saps the worn sense to phlegmatic decay. 

There too intrude those careful thoughts that oft 

O'er-labour Reason to untimely ruin. 1 25 

Your meditations general and light 

At first, too quickly to the searching brain 

Grow close and anxious 5 some perplexing theme 

Beyond its power, perhaps of things to come, 

Of the Almighty's plan, to human thought 130 I 



12 SOCIETY, 



PART I. 



Forbidden and obscure,, possess the mind, 

In which it finds a toil intense and vain. 

Then from all lesser care estrang'd, it quits 

Each cheerful scene, all gaiety foregoes, 

And fastens to its torment. Friends in vain 135 

Essay diversion's art, and strive to tempt 

The musing brow to gladness and to smiles. 

Frowns, or the smiles of contumely meet 

The kindly wish — The mind still muses on 5 

Forgets its wont delights, and scornful deems 140 

All occupation save of Reason vain. 

Deluded Man, and weak ! too late thou find'st 

That Reason's labours out of Reason's sphere 

Are feeble, fruitless all, and soon or late, 

It brings its own presumption's punishment. — 145 

As when some hind of giant form and strength, 



SOCIETY. 13 



PART I. 



Spurr'd by defiance, or desire of gain, 

Makes desp'rate trial of his force, and sinks 

Beneath the daring effort ; over-forc'd 

Some spring of the machine so fine and vast, 150 

He feels his longest day the latent hurt 

And boasts his strength no more : just so 

The faculty of thought unfitly urged, 

Grows feeble with the subtle task, and yields 

Its wonted force ; and Reason overpower'd 155 

Stands impotent to duties easy once 

And fit for its employ. — Unguarded then 

On Fancy's frontiers rush a dreadful host, 

Gaunt Hypochondria and her hellish train, 

Of hideous qualms, of horrors and of dreams 160 

Dire and of horrid aspect, and the once 

Fair regions devastate and over-run ; 






14 SOCIETY. 



PART I. 



%• 



Mocking with grimly laugh poor Reason's power. 

That scared and unresisting stands aloof, 

And sinks supine, and wonders at its fears. \65 

Its fatal fault is now discerned, and oft 

Discover'd at this point 'tis not too late. 

Still in the bosom of Society, 

And there alone, amid those trifling cares 

Deem'd frivolous of late, and thy contempt 170 

Provoking, may be found effective force 

To route these fell invaders of thy peace. 

Move in the general bustle, kindle hopes, 

And int'rests that to man belong 5 concerns 

That give the mind a various exercise, 175 

Divert, and not fatigue 5 from these and such 

Affections as may soothe the drooping heart, 



SOCIETY. 15 



PART I. 



And wake the milder passions into life. 
The phantoms fly, and reason reigns again. 

Nor less your fate I mourn, who shun mankind 180 

To feed a fav'rite grief, to drop, unwatch'd, 

The tear of cherish' d sorrow : for to you 

A path of equal danger open lies ; 

Thro' the same course ye pass to equal woes. 

To the dear mem'ry of a parent lost, 185 

Or friend, or beauteous maid that shared the heart, 

I own 'tis hard to check the urgent tear, 

I own 'tis comforting to let it flow. 

A tender tear becomes a hero's cheek, 

And Nature sanctions it ; but asks no more. 190 

Nature forbids the stedfast ling'ring grief 

By loneliness sustain'd : — its dire effects 




16 SOCIETY. 



PART I. 




Learn of Giraldus 5 fate, and counsell'd thence, 

The grateful tribute of affection paid, 

Abjure seclusion, and be sad no more. 195 

Giraldus was a youth of fairest hope, 

For talent honor' d, and yet more belov'd 

For ev'ry virtue that exalts the heart. 

Fid el 10 was his friend, and such a friend 

The world counts seldom. By each other lov'd 200 

Insensibly, companions from the dawn 

Of earliest consciousness, their amity 

Seem'd brotherhood. Their kindness they exchang'd 

Unmark'd by either and as instinct's deed : 

Their views their feelings harmoniz'd 3 with each 205 

The other's sweet communion chas'd each care, 

l And doubled in participating joy. 



SOCIETY. 17 



PART I. 



One morning, such a morn as lifts the soul 

With ev'ry sanguine, ev'ry cheery thought 5 

When to the world the early sun lights up 210 

The blooming promise of the infant year, 

And zephyrs temper his unclouded beams, 

Gir aldus and Fidelio rose at dawn, 

(For they had learnt to shun the midnight haunt 

And wake with nature) soon together met, 215 

And eager sallied on the glorious scene. — 

They gazed elate, — their joyous spirits ran 

Nigh to delirium's height. Confederate 

In such delight, small wonder that their love 

Was long and true. The Ocean was in sight, 220 

And tempted soon their wandering steps -, a boat 

Invited to excursion 3 one they oft __ 

Had guided through the deep : they bounded in, ^A 



28 SOCIETY. 



PART I. 






Unfurl' d its little canvas to the gale, 
And briskly scudded o'er the buxom wave. 225 

Far distant on the green expanse they ran 
And gazed, and talked, in cheerful interchange 
Of animated descant on the charms, 
Various and gay, of ihe retiring land. 
It was an hour of pure, of rapturous joy. 230 

Its transciency how mournful ! very soon 
It fled, and quickly in succession came 
An hour of woe unequal' d. Many a mile- 
Unheeded on the wat'ry world had skimm'd 
The giddy vessel, when at distance rose 235 

The big-swoln sullen cloud, then swifter roll'd 
Progressive, and at last extending wide, 
Frown' d deepest gloom dark- shadowing all around, 
d now the blast grew strong, and stronger yet, 



SOCIETY. 19 



PART I. 



With sturdier force the whitening billows heaved,. 
And the deep thunder loud confirm' d the storm. 
Far was the land — the gale opposed — the bark, 
Light and unsteady, yielded to the wave, 
Its keel up-turn d, and gave the deep its burthen. 

Long time the hapless youth with stubborn limb 245 

Toil'd mid the briny tumult, when a Ship 

That distant had their danger seen, bore up 

And gave Giraldus safety j then the crew 

Sought anxiously Fidelio to discern. 

The care was vain — he never was seen more ! 250 



From that sad hour Giraldus knew not peace. 

Many a long day his grief was agony — 

More keen the arrow's barbed point ne'er gave, 



m 



20 SOCIETY. 



PART I. 



%' 



More keen ne'er dwelt upon the scorpion's tongue. 
He raved, he wept ; — groans burst from his full heart 
Incessant, deep. — He wish'd that with his friend 
He too had sunk, and curs'd the friendly hands 
That gave him back to life Fidelio shared not. 
His anguish soften'd then, and tears would flow^ 
And tranquil seem'd his heart. Yet still was vain 260 
Persuasion's power to bend his alter'd mind 
To occupation, and its wont pursuits : 
He loved his woe, and sorrowing still he lived > 
Resigning all his energy of soul 
To the insiduous languor of his grief, 265 

He loved to dream of happiness gone by 
Divided with his friend, and mem'ry's stores 
To search with anxious care, for ev'ry hour 
ark'd there by some event, slight tho' it were. 



SOCIETY. 21 



PART I. 



Illustrative of his Fidelio's worth ; 270 

And wept to think such hours would ne'er recur. 

Thought else he ne'er admitted 3 and to feast 

On those uncheck'd, he bade the world adieu, 

And took retreat from bustle far remov'd, 

Within the hut of an old fisherman 5 — 275 

A solitary spot, and neighbouring that 

Where stood of late the fatal bark, that bore 

Fid el 10 to his fate. — There long he lived, 

The wonder and the pity of his host. 

Strange habits did he learn : — to books sometimes 

An hour he gave, but chief the muse he loved, 

And oft himself invoking her he told 

In mournful strains his woe : sometimes away 

Sudden he sallied, and unknown his course, 

And thro' the day return'd not to partake 2 



# 



22 SOCIETY. 



PART I. 



The fisher's humble board ; nay, very oft, 
Two days or three he rambled none knew where : 
And ever at the dusky time of eve 
His custom was to wander on the beach 
And muse, and often as the old man mark'd, 2Q0 
Long and unmov'd he stood, and fixed his eye 
With steady gaze, directed to the place 
Where the big wave his friend in darkness whelm'd — 
So still, that thro' the gloom he look'd a statue- 
Stirring his sickly fancy to renew 295 
Each circumstance of that disastrous time. 
Anon with hurried step he moved away, 
And falt'ring stop'd again 5 directing then 
As stedfastly his eye upon the ground. 



v 



wrung the old man's heart to see him thus, 300 
ern as he was, rude-thoughted, and untamed 



SOCIETY. 23 



PART I. 



To Pity's tender sway 5 for 'twas his fear 
Madness might lord it in his noble mind, 
And terrors throng his brain. What power he had 
Of homely eloquence, he tried, to soothe 305 

His anguish, and divert a moment's care : 
And when the long dull hours of darkness came, 
The wonted sleep so welcome to his frame 
With toil oppress' d, concern for his poor guest 
Would oft defer, while listening he lay, 310 

And heard him pace his little chamber round 
With step irregular. 

One gloomy night, 
When the dark storm blew loud, the sea-bird scream'd 
At intervals, and up the tow 'ring cliff 
The curling surges climb'd with dreary roar, 315 
He heard him quit the hovel (usual then) 
And, with a sigh, whisp'ring a prayer to Heav'n 






24 SOCIETY. 



PART I. 



To send him happier moments, sunk to rest. 

Sad were his dreams,, for heavy was his heart,— 

Ill-omen' d, boding to the wretched youth 320 

Disastrous fate. — Uncheery rose the morn, 

Retarded long by the yet ling'ring storm, 

And at its first dim ray, inpatient fled 

The dismal slumbers of the hoary man. 

Still of his guest he thought with anxious fear; 325 

The hovel he had left, and his return 

He had not heard ; his vacant bed confirmed 

His absence still. A kinder couch he'd found 

On the smooth sand — a bed of sound repose 5 
There now he lay, and mighty ocean roar'd 330 
His lullaby to everlasting rest. 



% 



ort die suspense that pain d his anxious host $ 






SOCIETY. 25 



PART I. 



As to his toil he loiter'd, slow and sad, 
Upon the beach Giraldus met his sight ; — 
Prone at the bottom of the cliff he lay, 335 

Forsaken by the waves that lately gave 
His frenzied soul relief ; there now he slept 
All pale, and cold, and peaceful as Fidelio ! 



Self slaughter ! how it shocks the soul at ease ! 
And at the awful thought, Giraldus too 340 

Like thee had shuddered, e'er his treach'rous woe 
Had tempted him to Solitude. The mind 
There unreliev'd, inverted on itself, 
Falls to itself a prey. — Its inward course 
Through all the nice gradations of its ill, 345 

Mysterious theme ! but little suits the muse. 
The mind's distemper in its various forms, 



F 



26 SOCIETY. 



^k I 



And close alliance with the subject frame, 

E'en proud Philosophy hath found a task 

Elusive of her power. — Enough to know 350 

Its signs external and its dread effects. 



To yon drear shades a melancholy maid (1) 
Oft guides her pensive steps — there taught to seek 
Religion s shrine, and there her off 'rings take 
Of gratitude and prayer. Oh error sad ! 355 

In that sweet face an hollow eye appears 
Glaring distraction ; and thy form divine 
Is shaken with unquiet thoughts. Thou know'st 
No peace, no heav'nly beams of tranquil joy, 
Which on her children (as her pastors teach) 360 
Religion ever sheds. — Poor slave of terror ! 
n that lone bower a demon wanders oft, 



SOCIETY. 27 



PART I. 



The name usurping of the Angel maid 

To fetter souls like thine. — Her hast thou found, 

In vassalage to Superstition crouch'd. 305 

A fiery scourge she brandishes aloft, 

And thunders menace in thy tender ears 

Till horror fill thy soul. — She bids thee come 

Each day thy torment to renew, and thou 

Poor slave of terror ! fearst to disobey. 3/0 

Curst fiend ! of ignorance and monkish craft 

Detested progeny ! who maddning taughtst 

Clement and Ravaillac (2) their damning deeds 5 

And hast as lavishly destruction dealt 

(And twice more terribly, with all thy racks 375 

And tortures) as the deity of old ^^ 

Of Macedonia's Robber — how rejoic'd 



28 SOCIETY. 



«, 



The wane of thy dominion I behold ! 

Yet mourning at an evil rising still 

From thy dominion's wreck. For thy black deeds 

Dishonouring thy fraudful name, will oft 

Make infidels of whom thou mak'st not fools. 

Yet works thy tott'ring power effects so fell ! 

And canst thou pluck the rose from beauty's cheek, 

And canst thou dim the lustre of an eye, 385 

Once mildly radiant fixing every gaze ? 

Plant suilenness within a tender breast, 

For every milder virtue once adored, 

Heighten' d by each exterior grace, and charm 

Of affable demeanour ? Wake remorse, 3QQ 

Keen as the murd'rers, in the spotless heart 

Which snow-white Innocence had made her throne ? 



SOCIETY. 29 



Deluded maid ! her feeble power defy. 

Religion dwells mid scenes of social joy. 

Go, seek her there — an aspect mild she wears 395 

And smiling, cheerfulness inspiring round. 

Duties congenial to thy gentle heart 

Her lessons teach, expulsive of despair -, 

And hymns of comfort from her dulcet voice 

Shall lull to peace thy terror-tortur'd breast. 400 

Far — far from virtuous bosoms, be the dream, 

That on the social smile suspends a bait 

To snare us to perdition. Is't not strange 

That stubborn indolence hath e'er been deem'd 

To God a duty ?— that, delirium-led, (3) 405 

Man in the service of his maker erst 

Wore out his high capacity unmoved,, 



30 SOCIETY, 



PART I. 



And useless as the rooted weed he made 

His pillow on the rock ? — or in the cave 

Himself yet breathing buried — prostrate lay, 410 

Constant, as life had ne'er exalted him 

Above the clay he prest ? — Or wilder yet, 

Higher exposure of his frenzy, rais'd 

On column tops, the sport of passing winds, 

The mockery of the wiser wild-bird flights 415 

That merry chirp' d around, attended there 

On the chill blast, or light'ning's flash his fate, 

Fixing himself his folly's monument ? 

But 'twas a martyrdom to spiritual pride, 

A glorious triumph o'er the fleshly foe, 420 

O'er ev'ry vice that riots mid the world ! 



SOCIETY. 31 



PART I. 



Yes — 'twas the triumph that the Coward earns, 
Who shuns the field, then boasts the conquest his. 

5 Sham' d of such views, ye — nobler devotees ! 

Generous enthusiasts ! whose brave bosoms felt 425 

The mingling glow of piety and love, 

(Union to humanize a savage soul) 

We learn to venerate — exalted minds ! 

Who deem'd that not in vain had Heav'n infus'd 

Strength in your arms, and valour in your hearts, 430 

While might gave law to justice, while the w r eak 

And virtuous groaned beneath oppression's rod 5 

And that if All-beneflcence could wish 

Man's sufT'rings his approval to deserve, 

'Twas those encounter'd suff'rings to relieve. 435 



32 SOCIETY. 



PART I. 



How sweetly did the Sage of Zurich tell (4) 

Of all the pleasures of the lonely scene ! 

How have I hung enchanted o'er his page, 

And at the joys he pictur'd felt my heart 

Responsive beat, and softly melt away 440 

In mildest transport ! — but it sadden'd more 

To learn the story of his latter days — 

To find this Son of Virtue and of Science 

To Melancholy victim, and by her 

Depriv'd of ev'ry comfort they bestow, 445 

To cheer grey age, to brighten life's last rays. 

He found her surely in his much-lov'd haunts 

Of pensive stillness, for in such abodes 

She most delights to dwell, and there, 

Pale rumination tracking, artful steals 450 

With meek insinuating air at first 



SOCIETY. 33 



PART I. 



Upon her vot 'lies' hearts : there once possess'd, 
Too soon her deadly potency they find. 

Lamented Zimmerman ! his goodness all,, 

His piety and wisdom, could not start 455 

One beam of hope from his dejected eye 

Beneath her sway. A brilliant star he rose, 

And shone in lustre thro' his mid-way course, 

But set in clouds. By unsuspected steps, 

The gloomy, stubborn, unrelenting fiend, 460 

On his great mind insidiously imposed 

Gradual dominion, all his powers depress'd, 

Scowl'd on his venerable brow, his tongue 

Luil'd to mute torpor, whence before had flow'd 

Refining precept, and instructive truth, 465 

And sunk him down despondent to his grave. 

D 






34 SOCIETY. 



PART I. 



Tis said seclusion elevates the mind 

To highest virtue, lifts to views sublime, 

And wakes the noblest feelings of the heart, 

'Tis fancy's work, illusive oft and false. 470 

Make but the test (5) — The moralist recluse 

Will weep at visionary woe, and much 

Will wonder it should ever want relief : 

But with wild graces, and romantic charms, 

Imagination decks his feign'd distress, 475 

That ne'er its sad reality adorn. 

Emerging from his closet let him meet 

A ragged mendicant, a low born child 

Of wretchedness, assailing his nice ear 

With rudest supplication — he will turn 480 

Careless, unheeded, undisturb'd away, 

E'er yet his mind has cool'd of the conceit 



SOCIETY. 35 



PART I. 



Of his unbounded pity, generous views. 

A tale of complicated wrong relate 

That asks him active efforts to redress — 485 

He'll sicken at the care-fraught task, an# still 

Retire to charity of thought, to wish 

The best to all, and think that wish is virtue. 

How many at this easy rate have been 

As active Marlb'rough brave, as Blair devout, 

Enlight'ning and benevolent as Rum ford. 

Misguided Sensibility ! and these 

With pharasaic pride look down on minds 

Not train'd to virtue indolent as theirs, 

Like theirs, elate with sentiment alone. 4Q5 

One humble friendly heart is worth them all -, 

One who professing nought is bustling still 

For general benefit 5 who every day 



36 SOCIETY. 



PART I. 



A thousand petty services performs 

Grateful to those he loves,, and making large 500 

By small supplies the stock of human bliss. 

Who forms himself a duty 'mongst mankind, 

Conscious a duty must belong to all, 

And justly cheerfully performs it, proof 

'Gainst Fortune's rubs, 'gainst Envy's short liv'd spleen $ 

Who takes the world as 'tis, mends where he can, 

And where he cannot, can his conscience tell 

He did not spare the trial 5 grasps the sweets, 

Few tho' they be, that fall within his reach, 

Nor proudly spurns them that they are not more ; 

Enacts the fittest part of human kind : 

An easy peaceful state of mind he bears, 

Of greater worth than all the rapt'rous fits 



SOCIETY. 37 



The mawkish sons of sentiment e'er knew. 

And cynic-snarls may scoff, and Hermits rail 515 

At public life contemptuous ; such a man 

On them too justly may retort the strain ; 

A greater far, a higher mind than theirs. 

From pride the meanest vice their conduct springs, 

From resignation, noblest virtue, his. 520 



g>octetp* 



PART THE SECOND. 



ANALYSIS OF PART THE SECOND. 



Power of the sentiment of social love, which even in the 
digusted Hermit, who withdraws it from mankind, will 
lead to an affection for brutes and inanimate objects. 

Pictures of the lonely bird-watcher and of the hay-field 
group contrasted. Village summer evening and winter 
evening. Cheering effect of Society on the solitary tra- 
veller. 

In a state of captivity or of exile, the loss of Society forms 
the principal source of suffering. The bed of sickness or 
death, finds in surrounding Friendship its greatest allevia- 
tion ; and the hope of renewing social attachments, forms 
the prominent idea of the happiness of a future existence. 
A scene of this kind is compared with what may be supposed 
to be the sufferings of the unhappy adventurer, who in explo- 
ring unknown regions, is overtaken by death, detached from 
alt that is dear to him ; — illustrated in the probable fate of 
Pey rouse. 

Society the sole resource of age and infirmity. — lis pleasing 
and beneficial effects upon the student — allusion to the poet 
Savage, Mrs. Montague's Society, the parties of Yoltati :, 
and the Literary Society. 



ANALYSIS OF PART THE SECOND. 

The beauties of Nature are enjoyed ivith double effect in 
Society ; and scenes of splendour and festivity derive their 
sole attraction from the same cause. 

By combination of his powers, man has attained to those 
great advances in art or science, which distinguish him in 
civilized life. Science and the social principle have mutu- 
ally assisted each other ; and their progress has induced 
those enlarged sentiments of concern for general happiness, 
to which we are (in this country particularly) indebted for 
the many institutions directed to the public benefit. 

With these considerations a reflection naturally contrasts 
itself on the degraded condition of the Wild-Boy. 

Virtuous sentiments gain strength by association ; — — the 
utility of frequent and early intercourse with the world, by 
which those fantastic and over-sanguine notions of human 
life are corrected, which otherwise engender digust and en- 
nui. — Rousseau's unhappy state of mind, attributed to his 
solitary disposition. — The minor duties of society, to be 
learnt only by social habits, 

A brief recapitulation concludes the poem. 



43 



SOCIETY. 



PART IT. 



Hence from the mournful, solitary view 

Of Pride, dark-musing and deluding Grief, . 

To brigher pictures, glowing with the charms 

Of kind emotion, Sympathy and Love, 

And virtues that from social union spring. 5 

Sweet social love ! of every human breast 
First, inmost sentiment — when passions dark 
Thy deadliest foes invade, thou linger' st still. 






44 SOCIETY. 



PART II. 



Savaged indeed the heart, perverted far 

That hath forgot thee quite. The self-deern d Sage 

Immured in surly arrogance, still feels 

Thy last weak influence guide him to some brute 

Accustomed to his sight 5 and objects oft 

Inanimate, a fav rite bush or tree, 

Will claim the love unchannelTd tow 'rds his kind. 15 

Hence the affection the poor pris'ner bore (1) 

Ev'n to the reptile of his dungeon walls 5 

And thus old Quarll of legendary fame 

Cheer'd with his Beaufidelle (2) his lonely hours, 

And found the counterfeit of friendship's charms 20 

(Itself denied) sole solace of his life. 

Mark in yon field, where lies the watchful boy 
To scare the feather'd plunderers : — sad he looks, 



SOCIETY. 45 



PART II. 



For no companion hears his careless thoughts 

To change them for his own ; intolerant 25 

He feels the mid-day beam, that on the heath 

Darts withering, tho' no toil his blood ferment. 

Not so the busy group beyond. Imbrown'd, 

And melting in the blaze, they sing and chat 

And wield the rake unheeding. 'Tis the charm 30 

Their numbers give, their labour that beguiles. 

The jest goes round, the jeering compliment 

Provokes satiric contest, playful sneers -, 

While many a village anecdote recalTd, 

Reviving times gone by, the gossip tells, 35 

And thro' the live-long day good humour reigns. 

The lonely boy too, when at eve he meets 

His play- mates on the sportful green, shall feel 

A joy compensate to the day's dull task 3 



46 SOCIETY. 



PART II. 



Amid the merry party he will share 40 

The circulating pleasure and be blest. 
Mean- time (the youth in active pastime bent) 
The aged clust 'ring at each others' doors, 
No less enjoy their rustic coterie. 

Thrice happy meetings ! crown d with purest joys ; 

Where Nature does what Wisdom fain would teach. 

Thrice happy circles ! — When the ample bowl 

Smoaks fever-charged, and with its pois'nous fames 

Men madd'ning fancy riot happiness, 

In sad comparison I've pictured scenes 50 

Like this, and sighed when all was frenzy round. 

With keen regret hath mourning mem'ry told 

Of festivals where joyous spirits flowed 

From temp' ranee sprung ; where lusty exercise 



SOCIETY. 47 



PART II. 



Exhausting them bestowed a kind fatigue, 55 

And slumbers, light and peaceful, took their turn 
While yet a lurking ray gleam' d o'er the plain. 

A ruder season comes. Stern winter reigns -, 
And darkness more than equal empire holds : 
The feeble day peeps faintly o'er the waste, 60 

And straight reclines. — On the bleak north-breeze flits 
The quiv'ring fleece, at the lone cottage door, 
Held scarcely vacant when the hind would view 
The desolate expanse, intruding thick, 
And bleaching half the murky robe of night. 65 

Each source of pleasure seems in Frost's arrest. 
But 'tis not so. — Around the glowing blaze, 
Fed long and amply by the sturdy log, 
Together throng the tenants of the wild 



48 SOCIETY. 



PART II. 



And charm the hours away. Enlarging now 70 

In simple comment on the village news — 

Who last in church their wedding banns proclaim'd, 

Or who hath met mishap 5 or guess the fate 

Of some unhappy swain who left his home 

And labour for the wars. Now sayings tell, J 5 

Jeering or sage, that condescending dropt 

From Parson or from Squire, admiring mark'd. 

Or on the Hamlet's sad traditions dwell, 

Of ruin'd tower perhaps, or desert spot 

Mark'd in the neighb'ring forest, where time past 

Some way-lost man was murder'd for his wealthy 

And ever since his spirit hov'ring nigh, 

Hath made the fatal place of fearful note 3 

And scares each passenger who knows the tale 

(Chancing to intercept his nearer way) 85 



SOCIETY. 49 



PARTII. 



To rout circuitous. Or haply bent 

On manual frolick, minded of the time 

Of custom'd gambols, by surrounding slips 

Of prickly evergreen, that now bedeck 

The lowly walls, with many a crafty prank, 90 

And many a romp, and many a ravish'd kiss 

"Neath the pale misletoe now lawful made, 

They free their hearts of all the care they owu 

In mirthful revelry, uncheck'd and loud. 

The traveller that destin'd far from home g.i 

Unknown and cheerless journeys, while fatigue 
His limbs invade, and heavy thoughts his heart $ 
Perchance o'er desart wide, or tangled wild, 
Where lurks the ruthless robber — timid, slow, 
And melancholy wastes the weary way. 100 



50 SOCIETY. 



PART II. 



But should a social spirit passing near 

Invite him to acquaintance, with remark 

Of how the weather goes, or how the times, 

Full briskly then the moments glide away 

Quick by discourse dismiss'd 5 which prompting soon 

To nearer confidence, the heart expands, 

The bosom lighten*, danger and fatigue 

Disperse, and oft the journey ends too soon. 

As the green bough of sturdiest tree when torn 

From its companion-branches droops and dies, 11G 

The captive so, from fellowship cut off, 

Finds in his thraldom thence its bitterest woe, 

And when he sighs for freedom, sighs for friends. 

The exile and the lonely wanderer thus 

Feel but enlarged captivity. In vain 115 



SOCIETY. 51 



PART II. 



Mid nature's beauties, or the stores of thought, 

They woo relief -, short the relief they fmd, 

Much oft'ner boasted in poetic song, 

Than tasted, while remembrance intervenes 

Of friends afar, perhaps for ever lost. 120 

Go, seek the dismal chamber where Diseaee 

Reclines with pallid cheek, and wasted form ; 

Where thro' the half-closed shutter sadly creeps 

A feeble ray, that scarce a twilight sheds $ 

And all around distressing signs appear 125 

Of fruitless remedies. — Mark then how sweet 

To lift the languid eye upon a friend ! 

To feel upon the flutt'ring pulse the grasp 

Of one beloved ! — it beats with firmer force, 

The languid eye beams momentary joy, 130 



32 SOCIETY. 



And Sickness, cheated by the smiling scene, 

Awhile forgets her pain-inflicting task. 

E'en at the closing hour, the mournful group 

Surrounding, the departing soul protect 

From half its horrors. — Hopes to renovate 135 

With the fond weeping circle those sweet ties 

That gave this meaner life its only joys, 

Indissolubly, dwell upon the mind $ 

The fleeting spirit strengthens with the thought, 

Tor gloomy fears the heart beats slow to peace 

With every good, and every grateful wish, 

And blessings murmur on the latest breath. 

Say ye, whose tender bosoms deeply take 

(Too deeply often for your peace) the stamp 

Of friendship and of love — why when the hand 145 



SOCIETY. 53 



PART II. 



Of Death, promiscuously fatal, bear 

Untimely from your hearts, and from your hopes, 

Beings who held the foremost place in both, 

Whose care was yours, and whom in active mood 

Imagination fond y parts assign'd 150 

In all your visions of unstasted joy — 

Why still some silent moments do you seek 

To contemplate the dreary blank thus made 

In all your worldly hope ! — why drop your tears 155. 

In soft complacency ? why do your hearts 

Luxuriate in sorrow ? In your prayers, 

Nightly invoking on their uniodged souls 

Angelic peace, why mingle throbs that yield 

Sweet comfort to your hearts ? Dark is the view 160 

To Reason's eye beyond the grave's dread confine, 

And Faith can give it neither mode nor form 



54 SOCIETY. 



PART II. 



To fix your errant expectation. Thus 

Fancy will picture it from pleasures known, 

And with these objects of your sorrow first 1 65 

Renew' d communion on her canvas starts. 

Hence trie soft joy that tempers every sigh. 

Affection tells, the scene however fair, 

Unblest with them were vacant of delight. 

His lot far other, whom his fate confronts 170 

From home remote, from kindred and from friends. 
Think on the man (ambition's worthiest aim ^ 
Claiming a wreath humanity might weave, 
And justice grant the homage she denies. 
The blood-wash' d laurels of th' invader's brow) 175 
Who roves thro' climes unvisited before, 
In spite of danger various-form' d, to wrest 



SOCIETY. 55 



PART II. 



Nature's yet hidden secrets — proofs anew 
Of God's omnipotence and wisdom vast, 
Afar should death arrest his wandering course. 180 

Long Science linger'd on the Gallic shore,, 

And watch'd and wept, and wept and watch'd in vair, 

To hail once more her long lost brave Peyrouse. 

He came not. — Time his wonted round ran on, 

And flatt'ring hope now promised him no more. 1 $5 

Ah ! then what bodings flock upon her thought ! 

He perishes deserted — captive made 

Of wanton barbarism ; or a helpless prey 

Fall'n to the hungry lion $ or, perchance, 

The breeze of pestilence has reach'd his heart, igo 

And way-worn on the pathless waste he sinks 

To rise no more. Oh direst agony ! 



56 SOCIETY. 



No friend, no relative, no fellow man 
To pity and relieve ! No anxious aid, 
No solace, no compassion soothes his soul — 
The parching beam of day respects him not, 
The night-blast sweeps regardless o'er his head. 
He mourns his many hazards vainly run, 
His labours profitless — None nigh to reap, 
And bear his dear acquirements to the world, 200 
To hear and cherish his last parting prayer. 
•To Heav'n he Tolls his dim death- stricken eye 
His doom t' avert — in vain — he groans, he dies. 
The forest leaves waft with 'ring o'er his corse, 
Deep-toned the prowling wolf his requiem howls, 

Pass to the weary and deserted couch 
Of grey Infirmity $ the wreck of health 



SOCIETY. 57 



PART II. 



And strength, in Nature's stealing progress borne 

To piteous helplessness. Ungrateful Youth 

Its cheerful smiles denying him, his mind 210 

Dwells undiverted on the view of death, 

Approaching with delib'rate pace, as loth 

To seize a prey so fair,, so long resisting. 

Bear with his childishness, and let him taste 

A social hour 5 thine ear awhile allow 215 

To his garrulity, his fav rite tales 

Of earlier times, when he was young and gay. 

'Twill make him happy, stir his sluggish blood 

To brisker circulation, and perhaps 

Defer the hour when it must flow no more. 220 

This is the only pleasure age can know ; 
Nor surely less the pleasure to bestow it. 



58 SOCIETY. 



PART II. 



Of late my worldly callings drew me oft 

Where such a man dozed out his eve of life. 

A man of bustle had he been, and chose 225 

Life's busiest cares : his active spirits yet 

Scarce ninety pilfering years had plundered out ; 

And thus his heavy fate more heavy seem'd. 

His energies decaying, he resigned 

His interests to the kindred next his heart, 233 

And sought repose. Sole on his interests bent. 

His kindred soon forgot their source. Neglect 

Repaid their benefactor, or when nigh, 

Contempt was smirking in each -face, and sneers 

For errors of his fast-decaying sense 235 

And wasted memory. The old man felt 

His mortifying lot, and drooped apace. 

Yet when the zephyr breath' d, and the bright sun 



SOCIETY. 59 

PART II. 

Shone gaily forth, he hobbled to his door 

And cheery gazed upon the world : and oft 240 

He stopt (for much acquaintance had he made) 

A passer by, to ask how fared his health 

And what the news. In ruder times he sat 

Unjoyous in an old arm-chair. When I appear'd, 

He rose ('twas all he could) and shook my hand. 

He gladden'd at my sight, for well he knew 

I scorn' d him not, but had a willing ear 

For his discourse. He told me his complaints 

E'en that was comfort — told me how his friends 

No more delighted in his sight ; and thence, 250 

A natural step, reverted to his days 

Of youth and happiness : then tidings ask'd 

Of how the world went now. Unsparing I 

Freely the wish'd intelligence supplied, 



60 SOCIETY. 



PART II. 



'Till smiles would play upon his wrinkled cheeks. 
And all his cares, and all his woes seem'd nought. 
And when the hour of separation came, 
He grieved it was so soon, in warmest phrase 
Talk'd of what thanks he was in debt to me 
That I had done him so much charity, 260 

Then with his palsied hand again shook mine 
And bade me soon return. 

Ye coxcomb host ! who vacant hearted dance 

The giddy round of folly, own no joy 

Save where the taper blazes, where the crowd 265 

Of fashion thickens, and the buzz runs round 

Of simpering salutation, or discourse 

Vapid and frivolous — Forgive the muse 

If here she would invite you from the throng, 



SOCIETY. 61 



PART II. 



Sometimes to pass an hour., a weary hour, 270 

(For weary hours will evermore be found 

In time thus spent) to some sad sufFring friend 5 

To lend thy spirits to dispel the gloom 

Of drooping sickness, or decaying age, 

And try a pleasure that the heart approves. 275 

Perplex'd with study, when th' exploring mind 

Follows appearances with anxious eye 

To their deep source in undiscover'd truth, 

Till the brain ache exhausted with its toil, 

What sweet relief to burst upon the world ! 280 

To saunter on the promenade, or join 

A cheerful few, with whom the heart delights 

In friendly pastime to unbend 5 perchance 

Where beauty smiles, and with the fragrant cups 



62 SOCIETY. 



PART II. 



Of sober yet exhilarating tea 285 

Inspired, to playful raillery invites ; 

Or music ever-charming, copious source 

Of blameless entertainment, drives dull time 

So swift we lose the measure of his pace. 

In some sad corner comfortless and drear, 290 

Thro' the long day by poverty confined, 

Poor fortune-goaded Savage, (4) suffering long 

The curse of Genius, the unfailing woes 

Its pride entails, its scorn of prosp'rous paths 

Of vulgar tread, would often steal away 2Q5 

By favour of the friendly night, to join 

The social throng, and from its magic charms 

Still found for Fortune's wounds a soothing balm. 

And what the higher joys that Genius oft 



SOCIETY. 63 



So arrogantly boasts ? — A fame deserved 300 

Tis true is pleasure, and of fair account : 

But woe to him who builds his first delight 

Upon renown 5 — a poor vexatious hope ! 

The breath of envy to the humbler mind 

Innoxious, vain, is pestilence to him. 305 

An honest fame a target is for fools, 

And 'tis an ever anxious careful task 

To guard it from their shafts. And often spleen, 

And foul-mouth' d rancour to the contest call'd, 

No less than the unmerited assault 310 

Degrade the just defence. Thus vainly bent, 

Protecting what will still be insecure, 

Oft is the heart to much enjoyment steel'd 

As 'neath its care : and (cheated of its hope) 

The social feelings lose their pleasing power, 315 



64 SOCIETY. 



Then who would found his bliss on such desires ? 
The kind affections Sympathy awakes, 
By Virtue guided, give a surer joy. 

And ye whose craving minds unworthy deem 

All pleasures save of Knowledge, ev'ry hour 320 

Mi spent but at her shrine, go mingle where 

The vot'ries of Instruction meet, and pass 

In converse tasteful, various, unconstrain'd, 

An hour that lightens yet improves the mind. 

Thus Montague with elegant delight 325 

Enliven' d her fair circles • (5) such the charms 

In that convention which together drew 

The various Gar rick, Johnson sternly wise, 

Poor Oliver, and all the fav 'rite Sons 

Of Genius, to refresh their fainting minds 330 

With classic mirth, from all then* closet toils. 



SOCIETY. 05 



PART II. 



Th' enlighten'd Lord of Ferney's chosen shade (6) 

Sought not its charms to feed unsocial thoughts, 

And whine amid its bowers. His gate unclos'd 

At Friendship's summons 5 merit ever there 335 

A welcome found, and thus from Nature's charms 

A twenty- fold enjoyment would he draw 

Mid these to see them shar'd. 'Twould glad his heart 

At even-tide to see his table full, 

And from his teeming mind, exhaustless source, 340 

To pour his various knowledge, or diffuse 

With attic merriment the smile around. 

Fancy delighted dwells on scenes like these, 

Instructive as convivial : often there 

Truth, by the lonely student sought in vain, 345 

From thought to thought opposed, collision sharp, 

Resistless flashes forth with double charms. 



SOCIETY. 



PART II. 



And Wisdom ever consecrates the feast 
Where Genius recreates, and Wit presides. 

Such the repasts in Tully's honour' d bowers, (7) 350 
And such their charms, that his exalted mind 
That death could brave, yet met with broken heart 
The harder fate that tore him from his friends. 

Sweet is the face of Nature, sweet to trace 
Her fair variety — where lifts the rock 355 

Its rude majestic head, and by its frown 
Obscured, the dark wave roars j or where the stream 
Of gentler current murmurs thro' the grove - y 
Where spreads the cloudy forest -, where the hut 
Finds shelter in the vale, whence mountains vast 3(50 
Ascend, or humbler hills the flocks supply. 



SOCIETY. 67 



PART II. 



Ennobling views ! attesting that great power 
Whence all took being, waking thro' the soul 
An awful admiration^ pious joy. 
But with the great ideas thus inspired, 305 

Yet this associate — that some loved friend 
Attends thy steps, and thine emotion shares, 
A thousand fresh delights the prospect yields 
Contributed by friendship - 3 each in each 
New joy excites, and still that joy partakes ; 3/0 
Like the bright flame opposing mirrors share 
When each to each a heighten' d lustre adds, 
Which still reflected back augments its own. 

Whence but from social sentiment derive 

The many fond pursuits, that bear the name 375 

Of pleasure, their attraction ? In the dance, 



68 SOCIETY. 



When active mirth invites, the gala's glare/ 
The spectacle or fete, within the breast 

Es potent sentiment is reigning still, 
And these illusive and seducing forms 380 

But modes of its affection. Ask the heart 
If in the humble circle, where no pomp 
Or GstentatiorTaid, it hath not felt 
As high, as grateful joy, as e'er 'bestow'd 
Th' imposing glitter of the festive scene. 385 

Yet farther winds my theme 5 — -yet other views, 
And views of wider import, claim the song. 

To what atchievements hath not man attain'd 

Ey union of his powers ? For gen'ral gcod 

Fn league united, individual zeal 3pO 



SOCIETY. tk) 



PART II. 



Is twice encreas'd. Then emulation spurs 
To deeds of diligence else hopeless deem'd j 
Inviting then the mazy windings seem 
To distant truth, but darkly yet discern'd j 
Unwearying then the toilsome path of Art. 3Q5 

I know there are who mourn,, or feign to mourn, 
That e'er fair Science, and her sister Art, 
Taught man the worth of that celestial gift 
That marks him lord of beings. (8) Groveling thought! 
A time there has been when this sister-twain 400 
Were not 5 but can a human spirit look 
Backward on such a time, or when they knew 
But infant power, and think its lapse a woe ? 
When that bright heavenly spark, our proudest boast, 
Glowed unrefined,, War lorded, and it served 405 



70 SOCIETY. 



FART II. 



Only to kindle vengeance for the field 
Of rapine or of wrath ? when ev'ry care 
In ev'ry breast, by self alone was bounded, 
Blind to the grateful truth that tells self good 
Is best promoted in the good of all ? 410 

Or when all orders of this hither world 
Were lord and servant, master and his slaves ? 
When wrong was weakness, right evinced alone 
By strength of arm, or hardiness of nerve, 
• Fire or the sword the only test of both ? 415 

Shame on the thought ! what phantasy can urge, 

Save the poor pride of singly standing forth, 

Champion of paradox, to such belief ? 

What wild perversion hinder ye who read 

Tales of such times, to wonder and exult ? 420 



SOCIETY. 71 



PAItTII. 



Blest change ! when men, combining to be free, 

Philosophy invited to their aid, 

And order, social safety, public good, 

Grew terms of custom. — Then the tatter'd wretch, 

Tho' but a crust his labour's recompence, 425 

Might, thus reflecting, the poor morsel raise 

To daintiest relish. 

€( This, at least, is mine. 
" Of this no tyrant can an atom claim, 
" The labour mine that bought it. I for this, 
" At liberty and unsuspected toii'd 3 430 

** No despot fear'd, no scourge, no scorn endured 
" From one but joint inheritor with me 
f< Of earth and the free air." 



n SOCIETY. 



PART II. 



Confined at first 
The social principles, and devious work'd ; 
But soon extending wrought sublimest ends. 435 
Conspiring now in each enlighten' d view 
Man humaniz'd apace : and all around 
The patriot Briton now may contemplate 
Each lib'ral purpose, each refining wish 
Hail'd gladly, and with stedfastness upheld. 440 

Calamity in every form beholds 
Some generous hearts connected in her cause, 
And sighs not hopeless. Indigent disease, 
Poor feeble age, and friendless infancy, 
The sacred woes of genius, and the wounds 445 

Of fortune blindly dealt, respected all, 
Have all their corp rate ministry of aid. 
Even the contrite slave of vice mav find 



SOCIETY. 73 



PART II. 



A refuge, — to escape the savage hunt 

Of desperation, ever in the train 450 

Of ruthless infamy, a way prepar'd 

Conducting to repentance and atonement. 

Ye, woods of Hamelin, were witness once 

Of man, mere man, bare, insulate, unknown ! 

The Wild Boy (9) wander d long amid your shades, 

Inconscious, save of life 5 to vegetate 

His only wish or care 5 unmov d his heart, 

And dark in idiot vacancy his mind. 

What was to you his mould celestial then — 

His high capacious powers ? Ye mark'd them not, 

To you of undistinguished class he seem'd — 

Prone on the glebe, a brother of the herd. 



74 SOCIETY. 



PART II. 



Ah ! little thought he, he had that within 

Might aid to emulate e'en Nature's works, 

The wonders of his God — To seeming life 465 

By the creative pencil's power transform 

The mimic canvass — all but breath impart 

To change the shapeless marble into man ; 

The floods new-channel ; from the quarry lift 

Broad cupolas, and tow'ring pyramids, 4/0 

To parallel the mountains, and with them 

To pierce the clouds, and mingle with the storm ! 

Shared difficulty sinks to ease : the wise 

Still a new wisdom from the wise may learn, 

•** And one brave hero fans another's fire." 4^5 

* Iliad, 



SOCIETY. 75 



PART II. 



When rides destruction on the tempest's wing, 

The Sailor whistles, and his messmate's heart 

Grows stronger at the animating sound. 

Each great emotion nascent in the breast 

At virtue's call, all-potent sympathy 430 

Matures, and to enthusiasm warms. 

When in the crowded theatre declaims 

Brave Roll a to his injured countrymen, 

Tells of their rights by lawless power attack'd, 

Their lands, their sacred liberties at stake, 485 

By treach'rous robbers menaced, how each heart 

Catches his noble fury ! what a glow 

(Far other than the closet Roll a wakes) 

Spreads thro' each breast of patriotic zeal ! 

So with the wild-wind's blast extends the flame 4QQ 

Which closely pent would smoulder and expire. 



76 SOCIETY. 



PART II. 



The closet forms half-sages and half-fools. 

Forget not this, ye studious, and complete 

By social intercourse, familiar, free, 

Your wisdom from the volume of the world. 495 

A wide, exhaustless study there begins. 

Open betimes, read, unremitting turn 

The interesting pages : there survey, 

And mark, the infinitely various shades 

Of man in various forms 5 of manners each, 500 

Of habits, passions, sentiments distinct. 

Then with attentive mind their dirT 'rence trace, 

And moral truth deducted from your search 

Your labours shall reward — sound maxims form'd 

Safe, on the view of Nature as she is. 505 

A sound philosophy ye thus secure. 

The solitary fool may idly scheme 



SOCIETY. 



His great chimeras : often at a breath, 

The plainest wight school 1 d in the busy world, 

The corner-stone, the hypothetic base, 5 1 

Of his bright theories will shake at once, 

And down the splendid superstructure falls. 

The world unmark'd, to treacherous Fancy's dreams 

The mind resign'd, in visionary hopes 

Refines its expectations and its views 515 

Of this short state of frailty, and of care j 

And many a thorn thick scatter'd o'er the path 

The fend imagination strew'd with flowers, 

A deeper wound implants upon the heart 

Uaguarded thus. — To such an one, alas ! 

How soon the weld appears a joyless wild. 

Soon as Experience with her steady hand 



78 SOCIETY. 



PART II. 



Withdraws the pictured curtain Fancy drew 

Before the sad reality of things, 

Tis dreary all. In vain are beings sought 525 

High-minded, delicate in thought and deed, 

Responsive to his fancy-born desires : 

And save when quiet undisturb'd permits 

Recurrence to his self-created scenes, 

Dejection, spleen, his tedious hours exhaust, 530 

Alike the world tormenting, and himself. 

5 Twas thus that in the moody Rousseau sprung 
That singleness of heart, that turn'd his eye 
Suspicious on his friends as on his foes, 
Slackening affection's ties about his heart, 535 

Estranging it from those that lov'd him most ; 
Each dearest friend offended in his turn, 



SOCIETY. 79 



PART II. 



Till all mankind grew hateful : Soon, too soon 
Finding no interesting passion fill 
The dreary void the social ones had left 540 

Within his breast, listless he found his life, 
Grew weary, sad, and wretched past relief. 

Familiarized with motley-colour'd life, 

Taught to hope humbly, and on juster scale 

To estimate this nether state of man, 545 

We learn with temperance to meet its ills. 

And what tho' blundering fortune oft exalt 

The undeserving ? What tho folly boast 

Of title oft and wealth, and vice may thrive > 

Folly is folly ever, — vice but vice 5 550 

And men of worth, in worth both rich and great. 

Should view them still without an envious thought, 



SO SOCIETY. 



Should smile at ease, superior smile at fools 

With fortune drunk. A fool is ever sport, 

And surely greatest far when stilted thus. 555 

When Pierrot in a Pantomime we see 

Assume my Lord's attire > affect his air, 

We laugh the more to see him so misplac'd. 

Neglect not then th 9 important book of man. 

There farther those sweet duties may be learnt, 560 

The charm of cultivated life ; there learnt, 

To harmonize the various tastes of men, 

What for the general good must be forborne, 

What of compliance each must grant to all. 

Society is man's appointed state, 565 

Source of his high pre-eminence of rank 



SOCIETY. 81 



In the great scale of being : there his mind 

Finds fittest field of exercise : his heart 

Most to his honour, most to his delight, 

Its passions there may guide : Some hours reserv'd 

Sacred to inward scrutiny, and some 

Claim' d by devotion, (few to minds who deem 

To Heav'n their duty best by actions shewn) 

There most of fleeting earthly joys he'll taste, 

There most may merit those that never end, 575 



S3 



NOTES 



ON PART THE FIRST, 



Note 1, p. 26. 
<f To yon drear shades a melancholy maid" 

In this picture, I have deviated only in the exter- 
nal circumstances, from a Copy which my own expe- 
rience furnished me. A habit of solitude is generally 
the first stage, and always one stage, of religious 
madness ; and no colouring can be extravagant in 
painting its dreadful effects on the object of my de- 
scription. 



84 NOTES 



TO PART I. 



Note 2, p. 27. 
" Clement and Ravaillac" 

The fanatic assassins of Henrys the third and fourth 
of France. 

Note 3, p. 29. 

" Is't not strange 
" That stubborn indolence hath e'er been deem'd 
" To God a duty ? — that, delirium led," &c. 

In illustration of this passage, the following extracts 
will instruct my reader, or remind such as may be 
already instructed, in some particulars of the extrava- 
gance of this passion for pious idleness and solitude, in 
the fourth and fifth centuries. 



NOTES 85 



TO PART I. 



c< A numerous sect of Anachorets derived their 
name from their humble practice of grazing in the 
fields of Mesopotamia with the common herd. They 
often usurped the den of some wild beast, whom they 
affected to resemble ; they buried themselves in some 
gloomy cavern, which art or nature had scooped out 
of the rock 5 and the marble quarries of Thebais are 
still inscribed with the monuments of their penance. 
The most perfect hermits are supposed to have passed 
many days without food, many nights without sleep, 
and many years without speaking 5 and glorious was 
the man (I abuse that name) who contrived any cell, 
or seat, of a peculiar construction, which might ex- 
pose him, in the most inconvenient posture, to the 
inclemency of the seasons." 

Gil Ions Decline and Fall, 



86 NOTES 



TO PART I. 



The next is an account of the Pillar- Saints, allude d 
to in the latter part of the paragraph : 

" Or wilder yet, 
Higher exposure of his frenzy, rais'd 
On column tops " 

" Of all the instances of superstitious frenzy that 
disgraced this age, none was held in higher venera- 
tion, or excited more the wonder of the multitude, 
than that of a certain order of men, who were called 
Stylites by the Greeks, and Sancti Columnares, or 
Pillar-Saints, by the Latins. These were persons of 
a most singular and extravagant turn of mind, who 
stood motionless upon the tops of pillars, expressly 
raised for this exercise of their patience, and remained 
there for several years, amidst the admiration and ap- 



NOTES 



TO PART I. 



plause of the stupid populace. The inventor of this 
strange and ridiculous discipline was Simeon, a Syrian, 
who began his follies by changing the agreeable em- 
ployment of a Shepherd, for the senseless austerities 
of the Monkish life. But his enthusiasm carried him 
still greater lengths ; for in order to climb as near 
Heaven as he could, he passed thirty- seven years of 
his wretched life upon five pillars of six, twelve, 
twenty- two, thirty-six, and forty cubits high, and 
thus acquired a most shining reputation, and attracted 
the veneration of all about him,, Many of the inha- 
bitants of Syria and Palestine, seduced by a false am- 
bition, followed the example of this fanatic, though 
not with the same degree of austerity." 

Mosheirris Ecclesiastical History. 
Simeon died upon his pillar. 



88 NOTES 



TO PART I. 



Note 4, p. 32. 
" How sweetly did the Sage of Zurich tell" &c. 

My statement of Zimmerman's deplorable condi- 
tion in the latter part of his life, is supplied me by his 
Biographer, Tissot. That gentleman's opinion of his 
work on Solitude gains not a little weight from the 
melancholy circumstance, and it will no doubt be 
corroborated in the judgment of every impartial 
reader, who knows the work and the story of its 
author. " Is he always just in his decisions, and has 
he always held a fair balance between the advantages 
of society and those of solitude ? Friendship herself 
cannot be so blind as to think so. His taste carried 
him more frequently to the love of solitude than of 



NOTES 89 



TO PARTI. 



society, and his work bears the marks of it, without 
his intention. It cannot be dissembled that the rea- 
der discovers traits which show the state of his nerves ; 
in some parts we may say, in very few it is true, 
here the Author was hypochondriacal ; perhaps even 
he was out of humour : Noblemen who are either 
vain or ignorant, and small towns, recur too often, 
and it is evidently ill-humour that introduces them." 
Zimmerman's was the fault of most over-refined 
minds. He knew not how to extract enjoyment from 
the intercourse of those, much inferior to himself in 
powers and acquirements, a great secret, I believe 
the greatest, extended in its application, of human 
happiness. His intellectual equals were rare; and 
hence his bias to retirement. 



90 NOTES 



TO PART I. 



Note 5, p. 34. 

" The moralist recluse 
Will weep at visionary woe" &c. 

The inconsistency of the actions of many writers 
with their sentiments materially corroborates the truth 
©f these remarks. 

The great evil of reading Novels and Romances, is 
perhaps, that while they impart this kind of closet 
sensibility, they enervate the character, and dispose 
the mind to rest satisfied with the admiration of 
moral beauty rather than incite it to the practice of 
moral duties. Noble Lords, magnanimous Baronets, 
gentle Squires, and rich Heiresses, are the characters; 



NOTES 91 



TO PART I. 



and duels, trials of constancy, beauty in distress, dis- 
interested liberality, make up the incidents in gene- 
ral of this kind of fictions : all far above the sphere 
of the majority of readers 3 and thus while they are 
idly dreaming of these things, of which they have no 
business to dream, they despise and leave undone the 
humble and necessary duties, which it belongs to 
them to do. 



NOTES 

ON PART THE SECOND. 



Note 1, p. 44. 



41 Hence the affection the poor pris'ner bore 
u Ev'n to the reptile of his dungeon- wails ;" 

Tlie great Howard, in his work on Prisons, re- 
lates an anecdote of a prisoner (I believe in the Bas- 
tille) who for some time after his confinement was 
so much relieved by amusing himself with a spider 
•on the walls of his prison, that he preserved an ap- 
pearance of perfect cheerfulness, and on the gaoler's 



NOTES 



TO PART II. 



observing it, and wantonly destroying the spider, fell 
into a state of the most profound melancholy. 

Note 2, p. 44. 
" And thus old Quarll of legendary fame 
" Cheer'd with his Beaufidelle" — 

Those, whose youthful hours have been beguiled 
by the story of the " English Hermit," will readily 
remember his affectionate account of his sagacious and 
faithful monkey, to which he had given that name. 

Note 3, p. 55. 
" Her long lost brave Peyrouse." 

This traveller (the fact most probably Is universally 



94 NOTES. 



TO PART II. 



known) quitted his native country, in the year 1735, 
on a voyage of discovery, and after sailing from 
Botany-Bay in 1/88, was never more heard of. 

Note 4, p. 62. 
(< In some sad corner comfortless and drear 
" Thro' the long day by poverty confined, 
" Poor fortune-goaded Savage" — 

Dr. Johnson's eventful life of this interesting cha- 
racter informs us, that at Bristol when he was in 
debt and pursued by the officers, it was his custom 
to lie in bed the greatest part of the day, and to go 
out in the dark with the utmost privacy to visit his 
friends, and return before morning to his lodging, 
which was an obscure garret ; that at the table of 



NOTES ga 



TO PART II. 



a friend, or amid the circle of a tavern he lost all sense 
of his wretchedness 5 and though in die extreme of 
penury, he was so fascinated with the charms of con- 
versation, that in society he was always animated and 
cheerful, and the last to retire. 



Note 5, p. 64. 

The " fair circles** and the " convention" here 
mentioned, are, the Blue Stocking Club, (as it was- 
called) held at the house of the late Mrs. Montague, 
composed of literary ladies, and the Society of Literati 
instituted by Dr. Johnson 5 both famous in the literary 
anecdote of the last half-century. 



96 NOTES 



TO PART II. 



Note 6, p. 65-. 
€i Th' enlighten'd Lord of Ferney's chosen shade" &c. 
In his own Memoirs the Philosophe de Ferney 
speaks of his situation in this delightful retreat in the 
following terms : " Une societe douce et de gens 
d'esprit remplit les momens que 1'etude et le soin de 
ma sante me laissent. — Ainsi, ayant vecu chez les 
roisj je me suis fait roi chez moi." A late French 
publication entitled (< Soirees a Femey" will instruct 
the reader more particularly in the nature of the en- 
tertainment at the court of Voltaire. — His Chateau at 
Cirey, was in this respect not less distinguished : that 
also says Condorcet " was the rendez-vous of science 
and philosophy. There he lived with Madame de 
Chatelet j and reckoned among his visitors Jean Bei> 
nouilll, Kcenig and Maupertuis." 



NOTES 97 



TO PART II. 



Note 7> P- 66 
" Such the repasts in Tully's honour'd bowers 
cc And such their charms that his exalted mind 
<c That death could brave," &c. 

" It cannot be denied that in this calamity of his 
exile, he did not behave himself with that firmness, 
which might reasonably be expected from one, who 
had borne so glorious a part in the Republic 3 con- 
scious of his integrity, and suffering in the cause of 
his country : for his letters are generally filled with 
such lamentable expressions of grief and despair, 
that his best friends, and even his wife was forced to 
admonish him sometimes to rouse his courage, and 
remember his former character. Atticus was con* 
stantly putting him in mind of it 3 and sent him word 
u 



93 NOTES 



TO PART II. 



of a report that was brought to Rome by one of 
Crassus's freedmen, that his affliction had disordered 
his senses. 5 ' 

<c I have twice, says he, in one of his letters, saved 
the republic, once with glory, a second time with mi- 
sery : for I will never deny myself to be a man, or 
brag of bearing the loss of a brother, children, wife, 
country, without sorrow. I am not one of those 
to whom all things are indifferent j but love myself, 
and my friends, as our common humanity requires." 

Middle t on s Life of Cicero. 

Note 8, p. 69. 
s * I know there are who mourn, or feign to mourn, 
s ' That e'er fair Science, and her sister Art 
€t Taught man the worth of that celestial gift 
" That marks him Lord of beings," 



NOTES 9£ 



TO PART II. 



In a late edition of Burke's works, there is an elo- 
quent rhapsody (which he edited) from the pen of 
Lord Bolingbroke, to persuade men they had better 
turn brutes 5 to which I refer the reader, as com- 
prizing all the leading arguments for this consolatory 
doctrine. 



Note 9, p. 73. 
The Wild Boy/' &c. 



The co-temporary accounts of this phenomenon 
collected by Lord Monboddo in support of his whim- 
sical theory of Oran-Outanism, bear me fully out in 
these reflections. They state that he was found 
naked in the woods of Hamelin, running upon all-four, 
sometimes climbing up trees like a squirrel, and feed- 



100 NOTES. 



TO PART II. 



ing upon grass, and moss of trees : that he was inca- 
pable of speech, and in every respect in a state of 
brutal wildness. 

Note 10, p. 78. 
c< 'Twas thus that in the moody Rousseau sprung 
" That singleness of heart," &c. 

The confessions of this extraordinary character 
afford ample testimony that the disgust and mortifica- 
tion he ever experienced in the busier scenes of the 
world, were prepared by his too long and constant 
indulgence in the golden visions of a luxuriant imagi- 
nation. The following passage shews that he was 
himself sensible of this. " Cet amour des objets 
imaginaires and cet'ce facilite de m'en occuper, ache- 



NOTES 101 



TO PART II. 



verent de me degouter de tout ce qui m'entouroit et 
determinoient ce gout pour la solitude qui m'est tou- 
jours reste depuis ce terns la. — II me suffit quant a 
present d'avoir marque l'origine et la premiere cause 
d'un penchant qui a modiiie toutes mes passions, et 
qui les contenant par elles raemes, m'a toujours rendu 
paresseux a faire par trop d'ardeur a desirer." — 
Again speaking of his youthful pleasures he says, 
" All ! leur seul souvenir rend encore a mon coeur 
une volupte pure, dont j'ai besoin pour ranimer mon 
courage, et soutenir les ennuis du reste de mes ans." 

But the extent of this disgust for mankind is most 
fully and clearly evinced in his reflections when about 
to retire to the He de la Motte, situated in the middle 
of one (I forget which) of the lakes in Switzerland, 



- 
102 NOTES 

-■ ■ • ' - — ' ' ' ' ' ' - -■ ' ' ' ' "-*"■■ 

TO PART II. 

4< Tel etoit l'asyle que je m'etois menage, et ou je 
resolus d'aller m'etablir en quittant le val de Travers. 
Ce choi$ etfiit si conforme a mon.gout pacifique, a 
mon humeur solitaire et paresseusse, que je le eompte 
parmi les douces reveries, dont je me suis le plus 
vivement passionne. II me sembloit que dans cette 
lie je serais plus separe des hommes, plus £ Fabri de 
leurs outrages, plus oublie d'eux, plus livre en un 
mot aux douceurs du desoeuvrement de la vie con- 
templative. J'aurais voulu etre teliement confine dans 
cette He-, que je n'euse plus de commerce avec les 
mortels ; et il est certain que je pris toutes les me- 
sures imaginables, pour me soustraire autant qu'il 
etoit possible a la necessite d'en entretenir. 



©tie 



RETURN of PEACE, 



105 



ODE 

ON THE 

RETURN of PEACE, 

Written in 1801. 



Britons ! raise the song of gladness 5 
Fill the air with notes of joy ! 

The trumpet's roar 

Is heard no more ; 

No more the deep-mouth'd thunders roll,, 

That stirr'd to wrath the manly soul, 
That rais'd its energies to madness, 
And kindled savage longing to destroy ! 



J 06 ODE 



ON THE RETURN OF PEACE. 



O'er the desolated plain. 
Culture now shall smile again : 
Where of late grim Carnage stalk'd, 
Where the ghosts of Warriors walk'd, 
And with hellish triumph swell'd 
Fiends of devastation yell'd — 
Demons that view with fierce exulting eye, 
What time the Fates their horrid joy allow, 
The fallen Hero's painful doom, 
His panting breast, his fading bloom, 
His quiv'ring lip, his dewy brow, 
And deep expiring sigh ! 

At length dread War thy horrors cease ; 
See once more the Stranger Peace, 
Renews her prosp'rous reign ! 



ODE 107 






ON THE RETURN OF PEACE. 



And see her woe -dispelling train— 

Industry, and Plenty gay, 

Smiling follow up her way ; 
Next in certain order move 
Glowing Hope, and sweet Content 
Joys of heavenly descent, 
And Loyalty and Love. 

Mark now the cottage guest, 
Late robb'd of pleasure, robb'dof rest — 
The lonely wife that oft put up her pray r, 
When the sad rumour spread 
Of Battles fought, of Soldiers dead, 
That Heav'n her love would spare. 
Oft o'er the journal' d tale she cast her eye, 
Of the dire conflict's rage -, 



10S ODE 



ON THE RETURN OF PEACE. 



In silent sorrow ponder'd o'er the page, 
And many a tear she shed, and heav'd with many 
a sigh. 

Fear embitter d all her day - 3 

A horrid sight 

Disturb' d each night ; 
Her fancy to the field of slaughter fled, 
A visionary husband bled, 

And woke her in dismay ! 

In her lov'd offspring that around complain'd, 
By her sole labour scantily sustain'd, 
She found a source of still severer woe. 
Of anguish such as Mothers only know ! 
Oft-times and long, 



ODE 109 



ON THE RETURN OF PEACE. 



In still despondency she sat and mus'd, 

Awhile the infant throng, 
Pitying her tearful face perused : 
Ey nature taught they vainly wish'd relief; 
And as around dejectedly they crept, 
Mov'd by instinctive sympathy they wept, 

In harmony of grief. 

Now the glad tidings burst upon her ear — 
Tis Peace ! 'tis Peace ! aloud they cry 5 
Rapture sparkles in her eye, 
And dries the ling 'ring tear. 
Her cheeks resume 
Their wonted bloom, 
Transport fills her throbbing breast— 
Her Soldier once again returns, 



110 ODE 



ON THE RETURN OF PEACE. 



With fatal rage no more he burns. 
Again with safety blest ! 

How chang'd the scene ! his cares forgot, 
Now, no more on plunder bent, 
His hours in useful toil are spent 5 
By Poverty alarm' d no more, 
Pallid Want shall fly his door, 
And competence again shall be his lot. 
Hark ! his friends, the village swains, 
Loose their joy in rustic strains 5 
Now o'er their ale 
They crave his tale, 
While the pipe, and jingling bell 
Gaily mix, their mirth to swell ) 
Nought but pleasure meets the sight, 
All is uncontrolled delight ! 



ODE III 



ON THE RETURN OF PEACE. 



Dear Albion ! honour'd, envied land ! 
How does each patriot heart expand 

To greet this long-wish' d hour ! 
To see sweet Peace return'd at length. 
Best guardian of thy wealth, thy freedom, strength, 

Thy happiness and power ! 

Yet will forebodings lurk about my breast, — 
Oh ! when shall War in lasting slumber rest ? 
How long shall dire Ambition's hell-born brood 

Haunt ev'ry tenant of a Court, 

Holding subject lives in sport — 
How long Philosophy in vain reprove, 
Religion teach of universal love, 
Yet Man still thirst to shed his fellow's blood. 
Mid her new bliss Britannia still must mourn 
Her noblest children from her bosom torn. 



112 ODE 



ON THE RETURN OE PEACE. 



Exalted spirits ! sparks of brightest flame, 

The self-devoted victims of our strife, 

Who fearless sacrificed an honour'd life 

To end this struggle in your country's fame I 

Now, wand 'ring in your native skies, 

To you my grateful thoughts arise. 

May the rewards that on your souls attend 

The glories even of your names transcend ! 

Long your example Britain's sons shall fire, 

Long the brave champions of her rights inspire— 

Your deeds the records of your age shall fill, 

Expiring Time shall know them still, 

And still they'll wake the lyre* 

Yes — never shall the Muse forget to pay 

To valour such as yours the tributary lay ! 



MmlMtow $oem& 



&' 






115 



VERSAILLES. 

Written on viewing the PALACE and GARDENS, 



Proud, splendid fabric ! splendid now in vain — 
Memorial sad of Power's precarious reign ! 
No more your dazzling eminence shall draw 
The envious wish, the silent gaze of awe. 

Ye spacious galleries, that now supply 
No echo but the passing stranger's sigh, 
How great, tho* sad, the lesson to be found 
In that deep echo's solitary sound ! 
How dirT'rent from the vain delusive thought 
That flattering once to Majesty you taught — 



1 16 MISCELLANEOUS. 

VERSAILLES. 

Amid this splendor., shelter'd from alarms, 
Amid these gardens' ever-various charms, 
Thoughts on these themes ne'er came on Pleasure's 

wing — 
A people s rights, the duties of a King. 
The fountains told no murmurs but their own, 
The fragrant breezes bore no subject's groan. 
Ah no ! the vast redundant splendor here 
Served but to check your tenants' timely fear,] 
Where all caprice unbounded could attain, 
Seemed still to say they nought should wish in vain. 

At length, when charged with terror and with woe, 
Appear'd those truths the first that Kings should know, 
When scorn d oppression's groans, then heard too late, 
Grew into- shouts and thunder'd at your gate — 



MISCELLANEOUS. 117 

VERSAILLES. 

" Redress, or vengeance !" in defiance loud, 
Roar'd the dread voice of a tremendous crowcL 
Amazed, awaken'd from their dream of pow'r, 
Too late they trembled in that dreadful hour 5 
Found when too late why Subjects could complain, 
And Justice learnt, when Justice was in vain. 
In vain e'en Justice speaks to hush the tongues 
Too long neglected of a people's wrongs. 

Stem the still waters in their steady course 5 
Then burst the barriers that oppose their force — 
And would you bid th* accumulated tide 
With temp'rate current to its level glide ? 

'Twere vain a deluge spreads along its shores. 

Resistless, wild, th' impetuous torrent pours, 



US MISCELLANEOUS. 

VERSAILLES. 

And idly furious, o'er its lawful bourn 
Onward it rushes, only to return. 

Ye high- wrought models of luxurious art ! 
The smiles of pleasure ye no more impart. 
And say, did e'er your blandishments repay 
The lavish'd millions that prepar'd your way — 
Did all the splendour your proud works disclose 
Fulfil the wish at whose command ye rose — 
Mid all your charms could your great masters find 
That only bliss " the sunshine of the mind ?" 

The pages all that Kingly joys report, 
The guilty registers of many a Court, 
The sated thousands that exclaim how yarn 
The joys in artificial Pleasure's train, 



MISCELLANEOUS. 119 

VERSAILLES. 

The endless wants Indulgence bids appear, 
The age progressive of her labours here, 
Where each design more artful than the last 
Reproved the vanity of all the past, 
The heart that spite of poverty can glow — 
All these with voice united, answer — No. 

A new regret in such a thought we find., 

And deeper sadness steals upon the mind. 

Did Indigence then pine in cureless woe, 

And did the scanty pittance scantier grow, 

Did proud sub- despots doubly curst demand 

The hard-earn'd mite from Labour's weary hand, 

And every hope of Industry destroy, 

That Kings might have what they could not enjoy ? 



120 MISCELLANEOUS. 

VERSAILLES. 

Kings yet to be, and yet in France to reign — 
(And Kings of France may have their day again) 
Should these deserted scenes your hours employ, 
Again to cheer them with the notes of joy, 
Your fancy sure will hear a mingling voice 
Exclaim « Beware, and tremblingly rejoice !" 



121 



To TWO SISTERS. 

Imitated from the French, 



Alike two sparkling eyes you boast, 
Whose lustre oil, in gazing lost, 

Enraptured we adore 
The difference is, with endless wiles 
One tries their force, the other smiles 

Inconscious of their power. 

To wound our unresisting hearts 
Alike in both Love's fatal darts 
In every look are found. 






1 22 MISCELLANEOUS . 

TO TWO SISTERS. 

The difference is, on conquest bent, 
One throws them round with fell intent, 
The other ne'er would wound. 

Of melting hearts are both possessed, 
Of Love susceptible each breast, 

In youthful ardour strong. 
The difference is, the flame of one 
With transient glow would quickly burn, 

The other's mild and long. 

Alike to charm by Nature form'd, 
Each is with ev ry grace adorn' d, 

A passion each excites. 
The difference is, the one's design'd 
By arts to please, the other's mind 

Simplicity delights. 



t~ 



MISCELLANEOUS. 123 



TO TWO SISTERS. 

Alike with intellectual force 
Each can enliven her discourse, 

Each gain attentive ear. 
The difference is, with sprightly wit 
One shines, to t'other we submit 

For reasoning just ard clear. 

Alike to boundless power you reach, 
A thousand knees alike to each 

In captive suit are bent. 
The difference is, one seeks them all, 
The other would but one enthral, 

With one fond heart content. 

Alike you bloom in beauty's prime, 
With either blest we pass our time, 
And both our praise acquire. 




124 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



TO TWO SISTERS. 



The difference is, of one we say 
Perhaps she'd please us for a day, 
The other — never tire. 






125 



To a FRIEND 

Employed in Shooting Sparrows* 



Why should men poor Sparrows shoot ?- 

" Why ! they rob us of our fruit : 

te All our cherry-trees infest, 

" Eat the ripest and the best. 

" Who can e'er a table deck 

" With the fruit these rascals peck V* 

Thus the question you decide, 

Thus your gun is justified. 



126 MISCELLANEOUS. 



TO A FRIEND. 



One among the pilfering race 

Yonder listens to your case, 

Cocks aside his cunning eyes, 

Chirps, and doubtless thus replies, 

r « This for doctrine then you give — 

" Man alone was made to live. 

u The rain of Heav'n, the genial ray, 

(If sparrows things so fine may say) 

" That made your trees and cherries grow, 

u God could ne'er for birds bestow. 

" Prove me these by right your own, 

" Special gifts to man alone, 

" Then I'll own the race that fly, 

" Merely live to starve and die ; 

" B\jt till then excuse my plan 

" Still to feast where'er I can." 



MISCELLANEOUS. 127 



TO A FRIEND. 

Reasons sound as these appear, 

Strange it is you should not hear. 

T'other day your lib ral hand, 

Prompt at Charity's command, 

One who your assistance crav'd, 

From a prison's mis'ry sav'd. 

With such a deed how great the strife 

To rob these merry rogues of life. 

To stop their ever-gay vagaries, 

For what ? — to save a pound of cherries. 

Few the days that life affords, 
Very few the life of birds, 
Short and free of grief or care, 
Light as is their native air, 



128 MISCELLANEOUS. 



TO A FRIEND. 



And, r Tcumscrib'd belie ver, 

E" j end for ever. 

nen such lives away — 
*em live while live they may. 

Sparrows ! were a garden mine, 
Thick with cherry-tree or vine, 
Freely might you revel there, 
Seed or berry freely share. 
I can see no reason why 
Man should bound our charity $ 
Why like niggards we should spare it, 
When so cheaply you may share it. 



, 






129 



OLD THOMAS. 



I've often thought in humble life 

Souls truly great are prov d, 
In ranks from ostentation free, 
Where men are ne'er by vanity, 
Or thirst of glory mov'd. 

Old Thomas but a peasant was, 

A man of poor degree ; 
Day after day with Heav'n's first light, 
To toil he rose, and toil'd till night, 

Yet proud of heart was he. 









130 MISCELLANEOUS. 

OLD THOMAS. 

In bold and independent tone, 

He told and told again, 
How often he with manly vaunt 
RepelTd an undeserved taunt 

From richer, greater men. 

# 

When yet a boy, where Thomas toil'd 

My sport I oft coniin'd \ 
And many a question would propound 
Whene'er the good old man I found 

To chat with me inclin'd. 

Thoughtful I ask'd him once when he 

Would be content to die : 
When with old age my strength is fled, 
And Charity must give me bread — 
The old man made reply. - 



MISCELLANEOUS. 1S1 

OLD THOMAS. 

May God preserve from such a fate, 

Thought I, thy noble heart ; 
Yet thought I not of half the grief 
When his grey head should need relief, 

Dependence could impart. 

As late I pass'd the lowly roof 

Where this good Peasant dwelt. 
His little garden told his fate, 
Wild weeds grew rank, as it of late 

No hand of his had felt. 

And is old Thomas dead, I ask'd 

A villager that pass'd : 
Alas ! he was, nor had he died 
Till strength no more his wants supplied, 

Tho' struggling to his last. 



132 MISCELLANEOUS. 

OLD THOMAS. 

A palsy shook his hardy frame, 

Then feeble fast he grew, 
Till power so little could he raise 
That all he did in six long days, 

Was but the work of two. 

A weak old man would none employ, 

Tho' all would Thomas praise ; 
Anon they told him (sound of woe !) 
That he must to the work-house go, 
And end his wretched days. 

Beneath his full and hoary brow 

Indignant flash' d his eye — 
In vain — of ev'ry hope bereft, 
His kindred poor — no means were left 
His hapless fate to fly. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 13c 

OLD THOMAS. 

He paced his garden up and down. 

And loudly thus complain'd : 
" Full forty years upon this spot 
" A happy independent lot 

" My labour has maintain'd. 

4< And trimly was my garden kept 

" And neat my fire-side. 
" And must I own them ne'er again, 
(< But herd with idle wicked men, 

<c My grey locks to deride ? 

ce Rear'd by this hand have children eight 

' ' To men and women grown -, 
" And doth it basely now deny 
" With bread and water to supply 
- <f The poor old man alone ? 



V 



134 MISCELLANEOUS, 

OLD THOMAS. 

f( But bread and water doth he ask 

(C With independence still 5 
f f Rouse ! rouse ! thou yet mayst that engage, 
" Thou grow'st a sluggard in thy age, 

i( And wantest but the will.' ' 

Next morn he rose, (he knew no rest 

With such a fate impending) 
And to the fields he went his way, 
And stubbornly he toil'd all day, 

With youth and strength contending. 

'Twas the last glimmer of a flame 

That could no longer blaze 5 
It was an effort vast and vain, 
That freed his soul of all its pain, 

And closed his feeble days. 






MISCELLANEOUS. 135 

OLD THOMAS. 

Exhausted, scarce he totter' d home 

E'er fell the dews of night — 
Life ebb'd apace, in peace he bore 
Death's chilly hand, nor evermore 

Beheld the morning light. 

Then let the marbled grave of him 

Of proud, but meaner dqom, 
Who crawling from an humble state, 
By littleness at length grew great, 

To Thomas yield his tomb - 7 

And there be carved in humble phrase 

How Thomas lived and died, 
That slaves of idleness and shame. 
And beggars with a finer name, 

May learn a peasant's pride. 



136 



An IDEA for SATIRISTS* 



One day at a loss to dispose of my time, 

And bent on attempting some new sort of rhyme, 

That most with applause should be read, 

A Satire thought I is a d d flashy thing — 

At Folly to pop as she skims on the wing, 

And boldly knock Vice on the head. 



* A Satiric poem submitted to my perusal, of which low 
jtatures were whimsically chosen as the subject, gave occa- 
sion to these lines. As there are many colloquial Satirists 

of a similar complexion, for their benefit I have ventured to 
insert them here. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 137 

AN IDEA FOR SATIRISTS. 

But then it was hard with such fellows to cope 
As Horace and Juvenal, Boileau and Pope $ 

Of ev 'ry vain hope they bereft me. 
In fact, they'd so lavishly levelTd their jests 
On rogues, fools, and all of Society's pests, 

Not a single new thought had they left me. 

Thus daunted, the scheme I resolv'd to decline, 
When Atticus enter'd to stop my design, 

And all my ambition renew : 
A plump looking pamphlet he held in his hand : 
He opened, when lo ! just the thing I had plann'd 

Had Atticus brought me to view. 

" A Satire you rogue !" I exclaimed in amaze, 
" That's brave man ! your enterprize merits my 
" praise — 



138 MISCELLANEOUS. 



AN IDEA FOR SATIRISTS. 

u Now let us hear what 'tis about." 
« Read,, read Sir/' says he 3 " 'tis a thing to my mind 5 
u The subject most striking and novel you'll find ; 

" Read read Sir I beg/ and read out." 

I eager obey'd as you'll readily guess, 

For on striking and novel, he dwelt with such, stress, 

At once all my qualms he dispell'd. 
I read and soon found all he promis'd was true ; 
His subject was really most striking and new, 

And so it must ever be held. 

What was it then pr'ythee ? at whom does he sneer ? 
The statesman, the critic, the parson, the peer ? 

Not so Sirs, but if you must know it ; 
The butts of this poet's sarcastical kicks 



MISCELLANEOUS. 139 

AN IDEA FOR SATIRISTS. 

Are all little fellows of five feet and six, 
And all little fellows below it ! 

What a thought ! that it never should enter my head ! 
The want of new objects no longer I'll dread, 

But Atticus' hint I'll pursue. 
No more by such fears shall my genius be check'd ! 
Since Nature herself may be quizz'd with effect 

I may surely find plenty to do. 

Her blunders present me unlimited scope : 
On Horace and Juvenal, Boileau and Pope, 

No longer I'll think with despair. 
Mid the deaf, and the dumb, and the blind, and the lame, 
In the field of infirmity starting my game, 

I've still left a pretty good share. 



140 MISCELLANEOUS, 

AN IDEA FOR SATIRISTS. 

Complexions unseemly, or limb that offends -, 
Bandy legs and high shoulders, carbuncles and wens, 

Shall soon feel the force of my song. 
Your scare-crows and dowdies I'll cursedly maul, 
All under sized people, or people too tall, 

And people as broad as they're long. 

All ye that have locks to disfigure the pate, 
Like carrots in hue, or as stubbornly straight, 

Such locks ye shall certainly rue. 
And henceforth shall none with impunity wear 
A nose of the bottle kind, nose that's too spare, 

Or nose you might make into two. 

On an uncomely leg, or a mere stump of wood 
Assuming the place where a leg has once stood, 



MISCELLANEOUS. 141 

AN IDEA FOR SATIRISTS. 

Depend on't my wit sha'nt be stinting. 
No face with more mouth than should come to its 

share, 
Or short of an eye any longer I'll bear, 

And let me catch any man squinting ! 

Next ailings of ev'ry description I'll scout : 
Colds, agues and fevers, the gripes and the gout, 

Shall get a Satirical trimming. 
And dotage shall feel too the gall of my pen, 
For no good excuse can there be for old men, 

And surely still less for old women. 

Then prosper great bard ! in this glorious career. 
Tho' apes of ignoble dimensions may jeer, 
Success your exertions must crown. 



142 MISCELLANEOUS. 

AN IDEA FOR SATIRISTS. 

From readers more portly you'll meet with your due, 
And Satire so singular, striking, and new, 
Shall bring you deserved renown ! 



m 



THE 



MERCHANT and the PHILOSOPHER. 



An EASTERN TALE. 



The Sun slow rising from his bed 
Began his early beams to shed, 
When from a short, disturb' d repose, 
The sad, the lost Manassah rose, 
And o'er the hill, and thro' the glade, 
In sullen contemplation stray'd. 

As on he stroll'd in self- debate, 
And murmur'd at his luckless fate, 



144 MISCELLANEOUS. 

THE MERCHANT 

The sage Orasmyn cross'd his way, 
Who walk'd to greet the opening day j 
A man to ev'ry virtue true, 
A man of worth and wisdom too, 
Of maxims just, and as he thought 
He lived, and by example taught 5 
For maxims not thus urged had been 
Deem'd mere ofBciousness or spleen. 
With grief he saw his friend depress'd, 
And straight the wanderer address'd : 
" What means Manassah's downcast eye ? 
" His looks some lurking woes imply ; 
" Some crime recall'd his soul attacks, 
" And keen remorse his bosom racks. 
« What else can Virtue's peace annoy ? 
» What else disturb the good man's joy ? 



MISCELLANEOUS. 145 

AND THE PHILOSOPHER. 

From musing roused, the mourning man 

Attentive heard, and thus began : 

<e Can you, who know my losses dire, 

(< The reason of my grief enquire ? 

<c My ships in lawful trade employed 

" The angry tempest has destroy'd : 

" Alike in all to misery doom'd, 

" My stores at home the flames consumed, 

" To poverty and want unused, 

" At once to indigence reduced, 

" My ripening plans of wealth o'erthrown, 

« All hopes of earthly pleasure flown, 

" No wonder at my heart's despair ! 

" What heart can such a trial bear ? 

" For I who scarce from virtue swerv'd, 

" These ills have surely not deserv'd, 

K 



146 MISCELLANEOUS. 

THE MERCHANT 

cc Whilst they whom grossest crimes allure, 

<e Enjoy their wealth and sin secure. 

" Wheree'er I turn my eyes around, 

<c I find unpunish'd vice abound. 

• r With impious freedom Hassan drinks 

<c Forbidden wine, yet Heaven winks. 

" No troubles Mahouds life reprove, 

" Who wastes his hours in lawless love. 

iC Hemjudah with unseemly pride 

<e Delights the humble to deride ; 

<c Vindictive anger Osmyn sways, 

" Caled on reputation preys ; 

" Abdallah seeks the gamester's haunt, 

iC And squanders wealth his kindred want. 

€€ Yet these disasters ne'er molest, 

" Nor woes disturb, nor cares infest : 



MISCELLANEOUS. 147 

AND THE PHILOSOPHER. 

t€ But I, whom no such vices stain, 

€< Misfortune's keenest shafts sustain. 

<c Tis true, in virtue over-nice, 

*' Some deem'd my prudence avarice. 

" Yet grant to vice my prudence grown, 

ff I plead but to that vice alone ; 

" And since in only that involv'd, 

f€ That surely might have been absolv'd. 

cc Forgive my doubts, for doubt I must — 

<c These things appear nor wise nor just." 

With mingled pity and surprise, 

Okasmyn heard the bold surmise. 

" And dare ye then, vain man !" he cried, 

<( Deluded with an impious pride, 

<c Arraign the great o'er-ruling hand, 

e< And doubt its course by wisdom plann'd ' 



I 



148 MISCELLANEOUS. 



THE MERCHANT 



" Deem you, because you can forbear 

" The errors which your neighbours share, 

Cr To which your passions never tempt, 

cc Your life from blame and scourge exempt ? 

" Resistance to afavrite fault 

" Alone our nature can exalt. 

,( Mid those you censure, few you'll find 

t( To more than one lov'd vice inclin'd. 

" The gamester loaths the drunkard's plan, 

(< And boasts that he's a sober man, 

" While drunkards, equally piecise, 

<( Will wonder men delight in dice ! 

■* The wrathful proud men blame, the proud 

" Exclaim 'gainst anger fierce and loud. 

" Such is the wise decree of Heaven : 

" To ev'ry man by nature's given 



MISCELLANEOUS. 149 

AND THE PHILOSOPHER. 

i( Some passion stronger than the rest, 

** That chiefly forms his virtue's test ; 

" And tried by this, our strength is shewn 

<e In conqu ring this, and this alone. 

* A thirst of gold your mind possessed, 

tf And ev ry nobler aim suppress'd 5 

" In ceaseless schemes of gain embark'd, 

<c Extortion oft your dealings mark'd ; 

*' And while distress around complain'd, 

ff Unpitying you your wealth retain'd ; 

" Displeas'd the growing vice to view, 

" In mercy Heav n its source .withdrew 5 

" That such desires might be restrain'd, 

" Your stores consum'd, your treasure drained, 

" And taught how worthless was the joy 

" That waves could end, or flames destroy. 



150 MISCELLANEOUS. 



THE MERCHANT 



" Be wise : the wholesome lesson learn j 

" To industry again return, 

" Again by toil redeem thy loss ; 

ff But let not gold thy soul engross, 

i( When thine enhausted coffers fill, 

(< Be moderate, be gen'rous still. 

" For useful purposes diffused, 

" Let all with lib 'ral hand be used \ 

fC Reward desert, relieve the poor, 

" And Heaven will bless your rising store. 

<f Then shall thy murmuring heart have rest, 

" Then uncorrupted shall thy breast, 

" Surmounting thus its virtue's foe, 

" With justest exultation glow." — 

Conviction follow' d his discourse, 

The drooping merchant felt its force. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 151 

AND THE PHILOSOPHER 

His admonition he pursued, 
And once again his trade renew'd. 
Again success his efforts crown' d. 
Success that spread its influence round; 
For wisely now he made his gains 
Of mild benevolence the means. 
Now taught, by sad experience taught, 
That bliss can ne'er with wealth be bought, 
O'er his loved passion he prevail'd, 
And triumph'd where his nature fail'd. 



152 



THE 



DISCONTENTED RABBIT. 



A PETER-PINDARIC FABLE. 



A rabbit who had all his life been pent 
"Within a hutch, at length grew discontent, 

And having nothing else to do, 
Amused himself in meditation 
On a poor rabbit's luckless situation, 

Compared with other animals he knew. 

" Alas !" he cried, " how many ills I bear, 
" And what a happy dog is yonder hare ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. 153 

THE DISCONTENTED RABBIT. 

(c He roves thro' wood or field contented, free, 
" He has no cares or troubles, none at all j 

" He can see life, enjoy Society, 

se And when he pleases give his friends a call. 

(i For food no human tyrant's aid he needs, 
f f But as thro' gardens in and out he pops, 

" On what best suits his taste he freely feeds— 
<c On cabbage now, and now on turnip tops. 

" Whilst I, with these infernal bars beset, 

" Must be content with any thing I get. 

" Yet why should I 
" Thus tamely bear the loss of liberty, 
" Whom nature made as proper to be free 

" As he ? 



154 MISCELLANEOUS. * 

THE DISCONTENTED RABBIT. 

' < It surely never was by nature meant 

" That I in this vile prison should be cramrnd. 

<c I'll not endure it, no if I consent 
cc To bear it any longer I'll be d d. 

" But how shall I escape my keeper's clutch ? 
" I have it — when he opens next my hutch, 
" Instead of tamely sitting like a dolt, 
" I'll slily make a spring and out I'll bolt." 
The opportunity occurr'd, 
And Bunny really kept his word. 

And now, from all restraint set free, 
He frisk' d about with wond'rous glee, 

Till with his exercise he hungry grew, 
Then food he sought, and found enough, 



MISCELLANEOUS. 1 55 

THE DISCONTENTED RABBIT. 

But found it very sorry stuff 

To what he'd been accustom'd to. 
To grumble now however 'twas too late,, 
So quietly he ate. — 

Just so the rake in holy fable, 
Who used in style to set at table, 
x\nd on all sorts of dainties dine, 

Till he turn'd wicked sinner, 
And then was forced to mess with filthy swine, 
Or go as he deserved without his dinner. 

At last he met the envied hare, 

And vaunting told the whole affair 
Of his escape, no doubt expecting praise, 
And begg'd to know how best to spend his days, 



156 MISCELLANEOUS. 

THE DISCONTENTED RABBIT. 

Requesting too his kind advice, 
If he again should stand in need of food. 
As 'twas most probable he should, 
Where he might get a bit of something nice. 

Puss shook his head : fc the scheme you'll rue," 
Says he, u or I am much mistaken, 
(C Of having a good home forsaken, 
<c To try a life of which you nothing knew. 
" How could you such a thing design ? 
' ( You foolish fellow ! how imagine 
" That you were suited to engage in 
" A state so arduous as mine ? 

" A thousand terrors, guns, hounds, snares, 
" Against us haies, 



MISCELLANEOUS. 157 



THE DISCONTENTED KABBIT. 



" Are by the human race employ 'd, 
" Which you ne'er learnt the cunning to avoid. 

" Besides, you are not to be told, 

" It soon will grow confounded cold, 

" And you can ne'er your tender hide expose 

" To frost and snows. 
" Upon my soul I fear you'll feel it much 5 
" For you must be unseason'd to the blast, 
'* You who have all your winters past 
" Within a nice warm comfortable hutch. 

« Then while you may, my counsel take, 
< < And to your keeper straight go back, 
" His pardon humbly to implore, 
<( And tell him you'll do, so no more " 



158 MISCELLANEOUS. 

THE DISCONTENTED RABBIT. 

He scarce had ended, when the sudden cry 
Of a loud yelping pack 
Approaching briskly at his back 
Obliged him hastily to fly. 

Puss doubtless tipt them all the double, 
Or gave at least the curs some trouble, 
But rinding such an easy prey, 
They snapt up Bunny in their way. 

A two-fold moral here's convey'd, 
That should with double praise be paid. 
Imprimis, you are made to learn, 
How folks of discontented turn, 
Of ev ry state they have not tried 
Can only see the pleasant side. 



MISCELLANEOUS, 159 

THE DISCONTENTED RABBIT. 

You next are taught, by Bunny's fate 
Your powers not to over-rate , 
He vainly thought himself a hare, 
Think yourself only — what you are. 



160 



THE 



CJSTLE of MYSTERY. 



Embosom' d within the deep shade of a wood, 
Stupendous and gloomy a castle there stood, 

All awful and drear to the sight , 
The ivy thick cluster'd around its huge wall, 
Its dungeons were deep, and its turrets were tall, 

And it chill'd all the soul with affright. 



Its chambers above scarce admitted a ray, 
Its caverns below were unbless'd by the day. 
Its ramparts were lofty and strong : 



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